the ghosts you chase you never catch
by PapayazDemon
Summary: Because Jim's never really been able to forgive his mother, but old ghosts find you at the most unexpected of times.


**Notes: Winona leaves a message for Jim after her death. He doesn't quite know how to deal with it. M for language.  
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**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. Just in case you thought otherwise.**

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><p>Jim and his mother have never really gotten along.<p>

Their relationship when he's young is strained to say the least. It's a rollercoaster of fights and weak flailing fists, of tears and slamming doors and saying "I hate you". Some part of Jim knows his mom loves him, knows that her pain and grief are getting in the way of her happiness, but even at the precocious age of six, Jimmy expects more. Between Frank and Starfleet and godforsaken Iowa, Jim can't let it go – can't just let her go and run away without somebody saying something about it.

So he pokes and prods and guilts, and makes his mom cry more times than he can remember. Sam is different, for all that he and their mom have their differences. He's all cold indifference and hidden hurt as she distances herself, but there is an undercurrent of love and understanding that Jim had somehow misses out on. Even when Sam runs away at sixteen, Jim feels that his older brother is still more a part of their family than he is.

He barely remembers how he gets in the car; he remembers scrubbing furiously at the candy apple coating and seeing the keys in the ignition, and all of a sudden little eleven-year old Jimmy is going one-twenty down Route 66. He sees Sam walking down the road, and something burns in his gut even as he calls out to him. Sam may not feel like a Kirk in Uncle Frank's house, but Jim hasn't ever been anything but and Sam's a _coward_.

The cop escorts him home, and even a couple days later, when he wakes up in the hospital with his mom crying over his shoulder, all he feels is numb. They don't go back to the farm; Winona has a house closer to Riverside and she has all his stuff moved there before Jim's even released. She tells him she's sorry that she left him, that she should've known about Frank and she swears she's going to make it up to him. Jim doesn't really care.

True to her word, Winona stays on planet and is around for Jim as much as she can be. He can see her trying, but no matter what she does, they just can't seem to bridge the gulf between them. They fight even more often, but it's one-sided now, with Winona's quiet apologies only serving to make Jim even madder.

It's a year later when Winona goes off to a colony and takes Jim with her. He fights it, not because he's really all that upset about moving (he doesn't really have friends in Iowa, and there's absolutely _nothing_ to do), but because all he seems to be able to do around his mother is argue. Dubhe IX isn't all that bad – it's a little boring, but the wilderness is different from Iowa, and Jim makes do. The conflicts between mother and son trickle down to a few snappy words here and there, and while Jim still doesn't excuse her, it's easier than it's ever been between them.

There only there for a few months before Winona's job is done and they're off to Tarsus IV for what she says will be a more permanent placement.

It's fifteen months to the day she says those words that she leaves him behind again.

"It's just a brief mission honey," she tries to reassure him, telling him she's the most qualified officer in the sector and she'll be back in just a couple weeks. Jim sees red and slams out of the house, because somewhere along the way he'd started depending on actually having a mother and she was _running away again_. He stays the first night at a friend's, and the one after that sleeping out in the humid summer air. He doesn't make it back home in time to see her off.

The civilian shuttle explodes before it's even cleared the atmosphere.

The following days pass in a daze for Jim, and he's consumed by his anger and misery and guilt (the latter he honestly didn't expect and it burns persistently at his thoughts). Before he knows it, suddenly the food is gone (poisoned, withering away in the brittle sun) and the rebels are in the streets and _Kodos_ is there. Jim is one of the lucky ones, herded away to the Governor's compound, eating three only slightly smaller than normal meals a day. He wakes up from his desolation the day he takes a wrong turn and sneaks into what he aptly names the dungeons. He sees a boy (Tom Leighton he finds out later), strapped to a table, incisions covering his bruised and bloody body.

Jim speaks to him through the small voice block in the door. He finds out that he's been hiding a group of kids out in caves, that they're torturing him to find out where they are. Jim steals a bag of food later that night and disables the guard pacing the corridor outside Tom's cell. The boy can't walk, but he takes the bag and Jim carries him slowly out one of the delivery entrances.

Somehow, and Jim can't remember most of the details once the adrenaline wears off, they make it to the city limit and past Kodos' blockade. Days blur into weeks, and the food doesn't last nearly long enough. Their ragtag group survives though, and when Jim finally sees the officers in Starfleet uniform, he's too damn relieved to even be mad (about his dad and his mom, because now the 'Fleet had taken both of them).

Jim doesn't tell anybody about Tarsus, not even Bones (and hell, the man probably knows more about Jim than he does himself). He pushes it out of his mind with the help of binges and fights and a string of warm, willing bodies. He forgets about his mom, about her leaving him, about the fights and the hurtful words. There are little reminders here and there (Kevin Riley for one scares the crap out of him when he introduces himself and once in a while an old Academy friend of Winona shows up in Riverside), but Jim's more or less successful at putting it all behind him.

Then his walls are jerked out from under him and he somehow comes out of the clusterfuck known as the Narada Crisis as the newly appointed Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise. It's four days before the Enterprise is set to leave the spacedock when the memories come a-knocking.

"Mrs. MacLauglan," Jim deadpans in shock when the elderly Irishwoman shows up at his dorm room.

"Jim, please, we're both adults now," the plump, cheery women waves him aside, "It's Rebecca."

Jim invites his old neighbour in for teen and god, he hasn't seen her since he was sixteen and he moved out of his Mom's house for good. They make polite small talk and Jim makes her tea, and Ms. Maclau – Rebecca – gushes on about how Jim's a hero now, and she always knew he was going to make something of himself one day.

"Oh how silly of me," she exclaims exuberantly, "I really shouldn't be taking up your time like this. I'm sure a Captain like yourself has more than enough to do these days."

"Not at all, Rebecca," Jim replies sweetly, though he quite honestly agrees, "I quite enjoy your company. It's a nice break from all the Federation politics I've found myself in recently."

The woman laughs heartily, having been involved in the political scene herself a couple decades ago.

"Nevertheless, I must be going. Here though, I brought you something," she says, digging into her large, blackhole of a bag, and pulling out a thin holovid chip, "Your mother gave it to me when you were younger, bless her soul. Told me to give it to you when you made Captain one day."

Jim froze halfway in reaching for the device, his mind sputtering to a halt. His mom? _Captain_?

"Anyways, must be off," Rebecca continued, seemingly unaware of Jim's distress, "It was good seeing you again, Jim. Do stop by next time you visit Riverside."

Somehow she's gone before Jim even realizes he's standing stupidly in the middle of his living room, arm outstretched and gripping the holovid tightly. He goes to his desk and stares harshly at the tiny silicon bit, half willing it to disappear and half desperately curious to know what it contains.

He'd never expected to hear anything really about his mother again. Her will had been simple and brief, and he'd managed to turn away most of her old friends during his stints in the Riverside County Jail. And what the fuck was the old hag saying about him being Captain?

Eventually, Jim's curiosity wins out, and he shoves the chip into the player on his desk. He tries to prepare himself, old anger and guilt mixing uncomfortably in his stomach, but eventually he just forces his arm to press the play icon.

His mom winks into existence on the screen, her hair shining brilliantly amidst the simple background of their house in Riverside. There are fewer lines on her face than Jim remembers.

"Hey Jim," he voice carries out to him softly, and it's warm and not tinged with dullness or weariness like it so often was.

"So I guess if you're watching this, I'm gone," she continues, and Jim can tell she's nervous by the way she keeps brushing her hair out of her face. It's... surreal.

"I know... we didn't really get along. It's my fault, I know, for leaving you without either of your parents to be there for you. You... don't know how many times I've wished I could've gone back and done it all again, done things right. Been, y'know, an actual mom for you and Sam.

But you only get one shot at life I guess, and well, I tried even if I didn't often succeed with you two. You... you were worse than Sam. You're so much like your father, even from when you were just two years old and climbing on top of the barn so you could see the stars better. It hurt to watch, Jim, but it never meant I hated you. If anything it made me love you even more, though I know I didn't show it.

But I loved you Jim. Still love you. Always have, and I always will.

Despite some of the things I may have said when you were younger, I've always known you would make something of yourself. You were so smart Jimmy, smarter than your dad and I for sure, and damn if that didn't terrify the living daylights out of me. I had dreams sometimes you know, of you sitting in that chair, being blown to dust, and there was absolutely nothing I could fucking do about it.

So I tried to push you away from space, even though I saw the way you looked up at the stars. I did the same thing as a kid if you'd believe it. That day... when you drove your dad's old car off the cliff... I realized how much I was trying to change who you were and Jimmy I was so _ashamed._ Because you're destined for great things, and I know someday you'll find yourself a family who can be there for you where I wasn't.

I guess I was right about you making Captain, huh. I made two copies of this video, just in case, but somehow... it just fits. I can't imagine you anywhere else, and Jim it's_ not_ because of your father. It's because of you and everything you are, and even if you think I never understood you, I did, I really did. I just... It took me the longest time to accept it.

I want you to know though, that I'm so proud of you. Proud of your bravery, and your heart and just everything about you, Jim. I'm _so proud, _you hear. Your dad would have been too.

Anyways, I guess that's really all I have to say. Take care of yourself and don't die out there. And... just be yourself Jimmy. No doubt.

I love you sweetheart. And I'm proud. Never forget that okay?"

The video winks off as tears start to roll down Winona's cheeks, and Jim is blearily aware of wetness on his own face. He its stiffly at his desk, not really thinking of anything for a long time. He hears his PADD go off in the background, but doesn't really notice it. At some point, something snaps inside his head, and he's up on his feet in the blink of his an eye. Jim barely remembers to grab his keys and a jacket before he's out the door and running down the stairs three at a time. He runs and runs and runs, not seeing anything around him, and when his footsteps finally slow, only then does he look up at the imposing marble structure in front of him.

The Kelvin memorial stands strong and proud against the San Francisco shoreline, it's black surface gleaming in the warm light of the setting sun. Jim lays a hand against it softly, and his head falls gently to rest against the surface. A quiet sob escapes him, and he falls down at the marble base, twisting so that he can rest his back against the carvings.

It was past midnight when Bones finally found him there, his head laying atop of his knees as he stared out over the water.

"Jesus Christ Jim!" the older man exclaims, and Jim can hear worry under the exasperation in his voice, "Don't just take off like that!"

Jim doesn't look up, but he's paying attention and he hears Bones fumbling for something in his pockets.

"Hey—What, yeah, I found him. Where—out at ... the Kelvin memorial."

It's just a brief moment of hesitation, but Jim knows Bones and the doctor's realized that something's not right here.

"Hey," he calls out softly to his friend, and to Admiral Pike who he suspects is on the other end of the line, "You know how everyone always says I'm like my father, right."

Bones doesn't say anything, but he sits down beside Jim, holding the phone up in his palms. Good old Bones.

"'Another Captain Kirk'," Jim mimics, "'His father's bravery, his father's courage, a hero just like his old man'... I guess... they're not necessarily wrong."

"But," he hesitates briefly, drawing a deep breath, "You know, I... I take after my mom more. More than anybody knows."

Jim hears Bones' breath catch and the captain knows that his friend understands.

Nobody says anything for a while, the only noise being the waves breaking gently against the cliffs. Pike signs off eventually but Jim and Bones stay until the first rays of light break the morning sky.

Before the Enterprise departs, Jim goes back to Riverside and to his mother's grave. He plants baby's breath, his mom's favourite flower, in front of the tombstone, and Ms. MacLaughlin promises to take care of it while he's away from Earth. As they're flying over the golden seas of corn on the way back to California, he realizes. Something deep down inside of him has settled, something he hadn't even known was there. A ghost of all the fights and all the hurt they'd put themselves through was finally put to rest.

It's not quite forgiveness, but it's enough.


End file.
